


A Winter's Day

by Jaeger Gipsy Danger (Carleen)



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Elder Danse, Elder Maxson suicide, F/M, Fallout 4 Paladin Danse Romance, Fallout 4 Surprise Pregnancy, Fallout Holiday story, Goodneighbor (Fallout), Paladin Danse as a father, Sole Survivor Fallout 4 romance, Sole Survivor Mom, Synth love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-24
Updated: 2019-03-24
Packaged: 2019-11-28 14:42:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18209696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Carleen/pseuds/Jaeger%20Gipsy%20Danger
Summary: The suicide death of Elder Maxson and Danse's subsequent promotion to the rank of Elder required the former Paladin to alter himself. Sequestered aboard the Prydwen, he holds himself to rigid standards and isolates himself from the Commonwealth and the people who live there. Plucked from the wreckage of his greatest shame and granted the rank of Elder Danse rises to the call. Success required him to forget the specters of his past and become something more. The one thing he cannot control are the memories. The past still haunts him. His human heart knows what it wants and will not be denied.Many thanks to Vertigox2Vertigo's helpful suggestions and editing!





	A Winter's Day

* * *

"My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:

Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!"

* * *

Ethereal as the mythical ship she was named for, the airship _Prydwen_ rode the capricious winds of the storm-tossed night, impervious to Winter's demonstration of power as it threw sleet against her viewports and forced the sun into full retreat beneath a bank of dirty clouds. She held her course against the currents, so sure of herself that she ignored the peril and stood firm on her moorings. She is as dedicated a soldier as the men and women who depend on her.

Alone on her observation deck, I see beyond the swirling crystals to the world below and watch the night gather the shadows, preparing itself to swarm over the fragmented landscape and drag it into the bowels of the night. I am the master of all I survey, yet my eyes flicker away from the macabre dance when a flash of lightning sends green miasma across the Glowing Sea searing my aching eyes.

Impervious. A descriptive word and one that suits me, as well. Elder Danse is impenetrable and invulnerable. The shades of nighttime care nothing for the wall I build around myself. Each day I labor to add another stone and each day it breaks down when the shadows pull at me, promising safe haven beneath the umbra of twilight. I stand square, my boots clinging to her deck and shielded from the world below where the tricksters - those unwholesome shades - glide and swoop, searching for the weak and those who yield to temptation.

I admit to being tempted, but I push the unworthy feelings away, bury them deep, just as I have done so many times before. I straightened my shoulders, but my fingers twist and knot as a shiver traveled unexpectedly down my spine, raising the air and prickling flesh on my forearms. Although I try to prevent the loss of control, my mood followed the sun beneath a bank of dirty clouds as the Commonwealth relinquished its light to the shades of a deep and dark December. It's always the nights that send the twin specters of doubt and fear to haunt my dreams. It's the memories that pull at me, tease me into the temptations that threaten to steer me off course. I wonder at how I came to be here, in this place. Who is this man standing on the command deck of the Brotherhood of Steel airship named _Prydwen_?

I am Danse. I am an Elder. I am their Elder. I stand apart and hold myself to a higher standard than the Paladin I was a year ago. The mighty airship is my throne. Someday it will be my tomb.

Had it only been a year since my personal goals stood so clear in my mind's eye? Shining beacons of attainable, reachable goals, achievements which promised honor and pride for myself and the Brotherhood. What of the hand of friendship? The love of a woman? The gentle hands and tender words that might push me carefully toward a concept known as love. The promise of a future filled with peace and prosperity? No. Those are not for me and never were.

Truthfully, I am no longer that man of such arrogant assumptions. To my subordinates, I am their emotionless leader, capable of making difficult decisions and sending young men and women to glory in the name of the Brotherhood. My presence provides moral support to my soldiers when they falter. I am an island of controlled power. I need no one, feel nothing and regret even less.

My weaknesses and the side of me I can never show, are the memories. They hide below in the lights of Diamond City, Good Neighbor, and Sanctuary, teasing me with empty promises and strike at my heart with a hammer named regret. Nothing but ghosts, yet they threaten me, and I fear them.

I destroyed it all in the name of the Brotherhood with a careless sweep of my hand. The friendships of the mercenary named MacCready, the newspaper woman, named Piper and her sister Nat. The Ghoul named Hancock, who held his small community together with nothing more than the force of his determination to create a world by the people, for the people.

The night I spent naked and unashamed in the arms of a beautiful woman. The memory of her kisses, the proprietary touch of her fingertips on my skin in places where I had never imagined. Insistent and sure until finally spent, I wept into her arms with profound happiness, though that happiness was short-lived. But those moments no longer stab at my heart with regret and loss. Those treasures are meant for other men, those who till the soil, merchants, and men of the world who live below my feet.

My fault. My guilt. My burden.

Although I knew nothing of the event. It was the night Elder Maxson walked off the edge of Prydwen's stern that my world changed again. A messenger arrived in Sanctuary, obliterating our peaceful evening and sending children and Brahmin running. My Nora didn’t speak, yet I felt her presence beside me. The moment too full of tension and unknown, I knew she wouldn’t try to interfere. As a Sentinel, Nora could order them away, and they could not disobey. But I knew she wouldn’t. Just as I knew the snipers posted at the guard towers watched over us.

The Scribe stepped off the vertibird, saluted and handed me a note scrawled on a bit of paper.

_Paladin Danse_

_Be advised that Arthur Maxson died by his own hand seven days ago. Senior staff requests your immediate return to the Prydwen. Banishment and death order rescinded._

_We need you, Brother._

_Respectfully_  
_Lancer-Captain Kells_  
_Knight-Captain Cade_  
_Sentinel Josiah_  
_Proctor Teagan_

I crushed the paper in bloodless fingers. They wanted me back, and I would go. My body straightened as if anticipating the weight of power armor and my fingers curled into the position of my laser rifle’s stock. My feet moved before I could speak. The open vertibird called my name.

I was forgiven.

We planned to harvest corn in the morning. At that moment I forgot the scent of ripe vegetables. The juicy-sweet promise of the mutfruit trees with their laden branches meant nothing. What need did I have of water purifiers, harvest or provisioners? The Prydwen gave me everything I ever needed.

I was a soldier. Paladin of the Brotherhood of Steel. At that moment I drew that line again, the one I'd created as an Initiate, the promise I'd made myself in basic training; there was Brotherhood and then everything else, nothing in between.

I dropped everything, walked away from Nora, Sanctuary, and the few friends whose regard I'd earned. I took nothing but the clothes on my back and boarded the vertibird. Just before the aircraft lifted off. At the moment, I could have at least waived, yet I trained my eyes to the horizon and allowed the anticipation of seeing the Prydwen again replace every doubt and regret.

It's when I'm alone now that I hear her voice and remember the night I spent with Nora. The memory of her kisses lingers on my lips — the gentle teasing at my hesitation. She'd asked if I worried my synth parts might fail, stood there with her breasts bared to my gaze, causing me to I blush like a Squire. She couldn't help but see the wicked, twitching mound under my uniform. In spite of my shy responses and the knowledge of my true identity, she stayed with me.

I fled in the night from her bed and put her aside when the Brotherhood beckoned, and I became the leader I was always meant to be. To become an Elder I set aside my baser pleasures and wrapped myself in the cloak of duty. Set me to study the books and poetry she spoke of in such casual terms. I had only to ask for them, and the Squires combed the Commonwealth for the dusty tombs. I am like a medieval monk set high in a monastery. It is my refuge.

As the days passed and the programs I put in place began to show fruit, I felt pride at our accomplishments and the bedrock certainty of a man who found his place in the world. The young scribes spent their days in the classrooms I ordered built in the old hanger. As reading and writing replaced the firing range, racial hatred lost its foothold in their hearts. With Maxson's passing the Brotherhood's hold on fanaticism eased.

If I could not forget the storm-tossed green eyes, I could at least cast a shadow over her in light of my accomplishments. And if I do not stuff my ears with the daily life of a soldier, the repetitive action of duty, the familiar non-emotional words of giving orders, her words whispered into my ears taunt me with the promise of natural fulfillment. Like a starving creature of the wilds, I feasted on her flesh while she writhed beneath me.

The first time she wrapped her arms and legs around me and murmured, “fuck me” my body bowed taut like a pulled bow and then released. She bit my ear and mentioned in the most casual terms that I was a good boy, but I still had work to do.

My hand to the Brotherhood of Steel creed, I did not understand what she meant until she showed me. Taught me that the application of my tongue and fingers caused her to unravel. Wild with her hair tossed across the pillow, she buried her face into my shoulder and shattered. Did all men know of this power? No, I suspect not. It is for women to teach us. Men know only of war and death.

The day she stepped into the fight at Cambridge Police Station, and her eyes met mine... How could I have known that with her arrival all was not lost? My shoulders straightened, and the hopelessness that had dogged me since we arrived lifted.

The cost of casting her gifts aside for the greater good of the Brotherhood? On one of these endless nights, I finally understood that inside the body of this perfect creature, the Paladin, Elder, leader, and the calm in every storm were broken, scattered like bodies of forgotten soldiers on a battlefield. The facade tears me apart from within. Grinds my guts and fractures what is left of my heart.

Sophomoric, don't you think? The real issue, of course, is that I am not a man at all. I am a manufactured creature. Then why am I tortured by feelings of loss? Why, no matter how carefully I apply logic to the problem, lust leaves me hard and longing with an intensity I cannot ignore? My own hand does little to alleviate the need to reach out and allow someone else to soothe the cravings of my body.

I stare down at my hands gripping the railing, my knuckles white with the rage that simmers under my skin. Until, one by one, I peel my fingers away from the cold steel and force my attention to the world beneath my feet. I brace myself and knot my fingers behind my back in a perfect statue of concentrated mastery. I grieve for my lost love in silence. My body craves for what is lost, and to combat the torture I willingly, gratefully confine myself inside the womb of the Prydwen's metal flesh.

In a few moments, I will take my last turn about the ship and return to my quarters. It's what they expect of me, and I dare not disappoint. I turn away from the lights to head inside, but a light shining from Goodneighbor captures my attention. Is it new or has it just gone unnoticed until this moment?

What does it matter? It is but one light among hundreds, perhaps thousands. I'll order a team down to investigate in the morning. For now, I'll return to my quarters; the most extensive private rooms on the ship. The valuable space created for the highest ranking person aboard. It's Lancer-Captain Kells’ ship, of course, but the Elder is always given the choice of the most excellent food, drink, berthing space, and sexual partners.

Yes, women compete for my attention.

Their pandering and artless flirtations disgust me. My predecessor, Elder Arthur Maxson, enjoyed the sexual display of the women and men. Not long ago I'd overheard Knight Rhys brag about his talented tongue and deep throat, how he'd made the Elder moan and groan, heedless of the officers and soldiers lifting their heads as the sound of Maxson's pleasure echoed off the bulkheads. The other soldiers slapped him on the back and congratulated him on the number of caps he'd earned for swallowing a load of the Elder's spunk as if it were a point of pride.

A few days after Arthur's death, Rhys entered my quarters uninvited to offer his services. When he reached for me, I actually recoiled in surprise at his confident smirk and calloused hands. His slander of Paladin Nora - being ignorant about how to satisfy a man - drove my fist into the thin lips stretched over his yellow teeth. My unspent rage rose like black bile, and I broke my own rule that I touch no one, and no one touched me. His arrogance and disrespect earned him the loss of his commission, a broken jaw and a job scrubbing latrines at Adams Air Force Base.

I willed the useless memories away and allowed the chill of the deck to direct me back to normality. I began my tour of the ship, but the night's siren call followed me inside, whispering promises to questions I no longer ask. Lancer-Captain Kells appeared in front of me and assured me that everything is ship-shape. Knight-Captain Cade met me at the foot of the ladder with his daily report. He inquired as to my state of mind and peered into my face. I ignored him and continued on. My hand clasped the hatch to the main deck. The solace of my books and a bottle of Scotch wait for me. Instead, I paused.

The strange light of Goodneighbor called me back and spoke to me of forbidden things, and suddenly I'm on the flight deck. Wet snow landed on my shoulders with a thump, and my boots searched for purchase on the frozen deck. The vertibird's engines spin up at my command. I ignored the questioning look on the guard's faces at my unexpected actions. There is no answer, no definition for my behavior. They wouldn't dare try to stop me.

The vertibird dropped, and I'm free of the Prydwen. Nora's voice fills the cockpit and teases me with memories of other days. Why won't she leave me alone?

“It's Christmas Eve, Danse,” she'd said as if that explained everything, smiling up at me with her hands clasped in mine. We walked hand in hand up into the stands above Diamond City to watch the lights flickering in the dusk.

Below us, the entire city celebrated, each in their own way. The curious nine-branched candle holders, the red, green and gold colored lights, the warm scent of fresh bread. Bowls and platters filled with fruit from Greygarden, meats, and bread baked with dried fruit. Their laughter and singing rose to us, “Silent night, holy night...”

I remember her singing the words along with the townspeople. I remember Pastor Clement's voice leading them in something called the 'Hallelujah Chorus.'

I'm circling Goodneighbor before I fully understand the secrets of how I'm drawn here. The flickering lights welcomed me. Will they greet me as they had before? I will not ask about Nora. It is my fault. I am the one who walked away before I understood.

I remember the tears in her eyes as she sang. “'Ev'ry valley shall be exalted, and ev'ry mountain and hill made low; the crooked straight and the rough places plain.'”

Unexpectedly she laughed and scrubbed her tears away. “The God of my childhood is gone, Danse," she’d said and chuckled a hollow fractured sound. "God has left the building.” Then buried her face in my chest, and I put my arms around her proud that I was the one she turned to for comfort. I laid my cheek on the top of her head and thought about what she'd said. Although I didn't understand, her words and the weight of her body against mine told me all I needed to know. Below us, the people of Diamond City had continued to sing.

“King of kings and Lord of lords!  
King of kings and Lord of lords!  
And He shall reign forever and ever!  
Forever and ever!  
Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Hallelujah!”

And I wondered if they understand what or whom they were singing about? If I had a god, his name was Arthur Maxson. A simple concept. He was just a man, after all.

I set the aircraft down in the intersection just outside the city. The engines quieted, and the memories intruded again. How could I have understood how deeply I hurt her when I had no real comprehension of the depth of her feelings for me? For us? My fault.

The light beckoned me. The gate stood open, and the guard waved me in.

“Happy Christmas, Elder.” A dark-haired man in sunglasses called to me. I nodded to Deacon and let him shake my hand. Yes, I know who he is. I remember. Piper met me at the entrance. “You've come,” she said, eyeing me suspiciously. “How did you know?”

“I don't know,” I answered honestly and allowed her to take my hand. I never liked this brass young woman. Although she possessed the courage and fortitude of a Knight, she has none of the disciplines.

Why am I here? I have duties. I have responsibilities. I left the vertibird in a contested area. Just over the heads of the residents gathered inside the gate, I noticed three men watching our approach. I remember their names. Sturges, Preston, and Hancock stand together as if they're waiting for something. It's a cold night. I don't understand why they remain outside. A good soldier is always prepared and yet they allow themselves to stay vulnerable to the weather. But this is not a battlefield. While I decide whether to point out those facts, a chill seeps between the layers of my clothes, and without warning I am frightened. My beret slides from my head, and as if to hide it I crushed it into my hands. People are talking, casting glances my way.

“It happened so quickly...”

“She hadn't told anyone...”

“Hancock found her outside the gate...no room at the Rexford.”

“So much blood...”

The ghoul named Daisy approached me hesitantly. Her instincts tell her to fear me, but I have no words to say to her, as the old hatreds are gone. All aggression toward synths ended the night Elder Maxson walked off the edge of the Prydwen's stern. I wondered how much of Nora's influence was in that change of heart. What could I say, but yes?

Piper stepped away, and I followed Daisy. This is her store. Behind me, the comments continued.

“Who the hell called in the BOS?”

“To hell with them. They got no business here...”

“Yeah, thought we took care of them.”

“Shut the hell up. That's the Elder.”

“Don't give a mole rat's ass if he's the fucking head grandpa. Ain't wanted here.”

“If Nora'd wanted him she wouldn't have left. We'll take care of her and...”

Daisy paused to pull a curtain aside and beckoned me through. Her withered hand appeared on my arm. I can't feel my feet. My head swims, and my eyes burn. I close them and allow the ghoul to lead me into the shadows...The voices quiet. The darkness I crave surrounds me. A sigh of relief empties my chest of air.

My eyes adjust until I make out the outline of a bed. Beside it is a table with a small Nuka Cola lamp spreading a weak light into a corner. The light shines of a pile of blood-soaked rags and a pan of bloody water. A knife and a bit of cord. There's another bowl, and something is hidden inside under a stained cloth. I don't understand. My eyes are drawn to the blood until Daisy mumbled an apology and whisked them away. The curtain behind me closed, and I am alone.

The depth of my confusion sent me into a tailspin of anxiety. I don't belong here. The world of my responsibilities crashed around me. The vertibird stands unguarded in the center of a contested area. I've walked these rooms and the paths of Goodneighbor, enjoyed a beer in the Third Rail, but I no longer belong here. Nora had tried to smooth the way, but something in me always resisted.

Under the clamor of my rising panic, a small sound draws me to the bed, and I watch a pair of tiny hands tug themselves free from a blanket to stretch small fingers. Such a little creature wrapped so tightly that it can't move. The temptation to release the infant from the cocoon of blankets is strong. What is the purpose of binding a baby this way? A smacking sound draws me to a round face dominated by a pair of eyes as blue as the sky. When the infant tires of examining its fingers our eyes meet.

The child is too young to smile—just how I know that, is impossible to say—but I watch as it opens its mouth in a silent gasp. A thatch of brown, so dark it's almost black, covers the infant's head. The eyes blue. Aren't all babies eyes blue at birth? Their shape is familiar, and the sense of recognition sends me to my knees. The child follows my movements, watching me closely.

I watch my hand as if it didn't 'belong to me move across the worn blankets.

A tiny hand reaches for the offered finger. It's my trigger finger. Calloused and worn, it isn't fit for the touch of a newborn. The baby catches my finger before I'm able to pull away. How can its grip contain such strength that I cannot pull away? The world of my doubts and fear spins away as I fall into the eyes of the child.

How can this be? Apparently bored with my brooding, the thing stuffed my fingertip into its mouth. The feel of sucking against my finger sends a frisson of something I cannot identify. Then a voice I thought never to hear again speaks.

“Daisy? I think he's hungry. Will you help me?”

It's a whisper of her usual tone, but I recognized it. Wait. He? Is the child a boy? In the months we've been apart another man impregnated my Nora. I decide the foul creature will die at the end of my laser pistol when a pale hand wove its fingers through mine.

“Danse?”

The baby's eyes flickered as his hands and feet begin to wave and kick. This time I cannot ignore the need to free the child from its bindings. The child seems to leap into my hands. The act of supporting the child against my chest is aborted by the knowledge of Nora's apparent betrayal.

“The child's father?” I snapped, and the infant's eyes widened. His mouth turned down, and he began to whimper. He did not approve of me setting him down and gave a cry of disappointment. What do I care?

“He's right here...obviously.” The beloved smile lifts into place. “I hate being so weak...will you help me? He needs to nurse, and I need...”

“I'll call the father. I want nor deserve any part of this. I'll get the ghoul.”

The voice, stronger now, calls me back. “Wait.”

Why, in the name of all I hold sacred, am I here?

“It's good to see you.”

“Why?” The rage, my only companion these past months, boils into my throat. I force the words over the clot searing my throat and mouth with acid. “The father should be here, not I. Intruding on your life is no longer...not my...” Helplessness gnaws at me like a mole rat. The infant frowns, weeping, the small hands lay still on the worn blanket.

“Paladin Danse? Knight Nora requires your assistance.”

The words and tone shot like a rifle slug into my awareness. My mind cleared, and I straightened. There is always strength in duty. Duty is what I know. Duty calms me, so I gather the infant in my hands and lay him next to Nora. She readies herself by opening her gown and offering her breast to the boy. The same breast that I...

She jumped slightly when he began to suck. Then Nora closed her eyes and breathed a long sigh. Lost in the sites and smells around me a word fell from my lips unasked and unwanted. This is not for me. I cannot allow myself this weakness.

“Nora?”

She curled herself around the child to support him with her arm, the other stretched toward me until I allowed her pale hand to rest of my forearm.

From a hard, bitter place where I dare not allow my thought to wander, more words shot from my mouth. “Where is the father? He should be here.” My sharp words drew a frown from the child as if he didn't approve of me interrupting his supper.

“Not far,” she said calmly. “I'm giving him time to believe what he's seeing.”

“I understand...”

“I'm not sure he does,” she murmured and squeezed my hand, weaving her fingers with mine. I cannot release myself or move away as I must. I dare not look into her face. Instead, my senses began to record the unfamiliar scents of the child. The faint hint of blood simmering like a warning in the stuffy air is, at least, familiar.

She's smiling at me now, and I see bright spots of color on her cheeks. Her smile breaks something inside of me. The pain makes me catch my breath as if I hadn't taken one since entering the room. Her fingers squeeze mine insistently as if she willed me to understand. A weight heavier than a set of power armor sends me to my knees. The child watches me while he nurses with his tiny hands pushing against Nora's breast.

The infant released the nipple with a smacking sound and turned his milk-tinted mouth in my direction. Tears I cannot control slid down my cheeks as my heart breaks...shatters into as many pieces as there are stars in the night sky. It hurts. Did I do this to my Nora? Endanger her life by impregnating her?

Children here in the Commonwealth? The filthy Commonwealth with its rivers of Mutant effluvia and offal flowing through the city streets mixing with the blood-soaked bodies of humans.

Gradually, I begin to see that the tiny hands are square with blunt fingers. The chin pointed...His hair is dark...the same shade of brown as mine... "It's not possible.”

“The proof is here beside me. Do you not recognized your own son?”

* * *

 "I met a traveler from an antique land

Who said: "Two vast and trunkless legs of stone

Stand in the desert . . . Near them, on the sand,

Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown,

And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,

Tell that its sculptor well those passions read

Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,

The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed:

And on the pedestal these words appear:

'My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:

Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!'

Nothing beside remains. Round the decay

Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare

The lone and level sands stretch far away."

_Ozymandias_

Percy Bysshe Shelley, 1792 – 1822

 

* * *

 

"A winter's day, in a deep and dark December

I am alone

Gazing from my window to the streets below

On a freshly fallen silent shroud of snow

I am a rock

I am an island

I've built walls

A fortress deep and mighty

That none may penetrate

I have no need of friendship, friendship causes pain

It's laughter and it's loving I disdain

I am a rock

I am an island

Don't talk of love

But I've heard the words before

It's sleeping in my memory

I won't disturb the slumber of feelings that have died

If I never loved I never would have cried

I am a rock

I am an island

I have my books

And my poetry to protect me

I am shielded in my armor

Hiding in my room, safe within my womb

I touch no one and no one touches me

I am a rock

I am an island

And a rock feels no pain

And an island never cries"

Songwriter, Paul Simon

 _I Am a Rock_ lyrics © EMI Music Publishing, Universal Music Publishing Group Release Date January 17, 1966

* * *

 

Air For Tenor: Ev'ry Valley Shall Be Exalted Lyrics | (Isaiah 40:4) Hallelujah Chorus. Messiah. George Frideric Handel


End file.
